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It turned out that Shea's hearing problem was so bad that he had had ear surgery to treat it.
When his turn to present Patty's case comes, Bailey will have some surprises. One of them will be testimony from a convict who served with Cinque at Vacaville Prison; he will testify that the "Field Marshal" was an avid reader in prison of books on thought control. But the critical testimony in Bailey's case will be that of three defense psychiatrists, among them Yale Psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton, an authority on wartime brainwashing of American prisoners of war. Bailey's experts have talked extensively with Patty and will testify that she was "broken" by her captors and could never have formed the criminal intent necessary to be convicted of a crime. It scarcely seems likely that the jury would find Bailey's brainwashing argument persuasive if they do not get to hear about Patty's experience in her own words. But, as the trial began last week, Bailey insisted that he had not yet decided whether he would put the pale, fragile-looking girl who is the central figure in his biggest case on the stand.
Perhaps she could not yet take the strain.
Making that critical choice—and readying her for the ordeal if she does testify—is what a top lawyer is paid for.
Randolph Hearst can afford any lawyer in the country, and after his daughter was captured on Sept. 18, he wrestled with the question: Whom to choose? Top trial lawyers are a highly strung, individualistic, often egomaniacal breed. While there are numerous sound, solid criminal attorneys—the Watergate trials abounded in them—the superstars with stage-center courtroom genius are few. Percy Foreman, 73, of Houston is, some colleagues say, a bit past his prime. Richard ("Racehorse") Haynes, 48, also of Houston, may assume Foreman's mantle some day, but most legal handicappers rate him as not yet at top stride. Hearst felt he had only two real choices, and he called the pre-eminent U.S. trial lawyer first.
Edward Bennett Williams of Washington, D.C., says he declined the case mostly because he was not sure he would have a free hand. That left Bailey. He is not an attorney for all seasons and all cases. "I wouldn't go near Bailey in a complicated commercial fraud case," says one lawyer who has worked for him.
Moreover, in the past few years he has been occupied with personal legal troubles. But ever since he burst to fame with the Sam Sheppard case in 1966, he has been superb for one particular kind of case. When the charges are spectacular and well publicized, when a confident prosecution force is pulling out all the stops, when most of the public thinks the defendant guilty, virtually every lawyer and court buff who have seen him in action agree that no one else can top F. Lee Bailey.
In every case Bailey takes, his offensive starts long before the trial. First he does his own "poor best" to counter official and leaked versions of the prosecution's case. Boston Prosecutor John Gaffney, who has faced Bailey in court several different times, explains that another aim is to "make the public—and presumably his potential jury—familiar with his planned defense so they will ultimately be more comfortable with it in court."